


Cain

by thephilosophersapprentice



Series: as if these names could take our sins [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Gen, Ishbal | Ishval, Ishbalan Character(s) | Ishvalan Character(s), Ishbalan | Ishvalan Alphonse Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Edward Elric, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Trisha Elric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 07:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17935325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: “The elder brother pleaded to God for mercy… God put a mark on him so that his people would not destroy him, and the elder flew far away.”“A tale of Ishval from long ago,” the nameless grunted. “Why tell it to me?”Something flared to life in those strange eyes. “There isn’t enough left of my brother for his blood to cry out for vengeance from the ground, because of me.”Shortly after Scar tried to kill the Fullmetal Alchemist, a lost child comes looking for a scarred man, seeking peace of mind.





	Cain

**Author's Note:**

> I've based this interpretation of the Ishvalan religion mostly off of Judaism and Islam. Hopefully I've done it justice; I am not Jewish or a Muslim. Please let me know if I've written anything disrespectful or sacrilegious and I will do my utmost to do better.

It was raining again, a miserable wet rain which brought no refreshment—unlike the rains of the desert. It was raining, just as it had been last time. The boy stood across from him, outside the shelter, rain dripping from his bangs and the tip of his nose.

“Why come here, alchemist? Do you crave death?”

Despite the chill, the boy wasn’t wearing his customary red coat. There was something vaguely familiar in the child’s amber eyes.

“There’s an old story,” he began, averting his face, “about two brothers who offered up the first fruits of the harvest to God. The older brother simply walked into the field and made his offering of whatever came first to hand; the younger offered only the choicest produce of his harvest. God favored the offering of the younger over that of the elder, and the elder brother was jealous. He…”

The alchemist swallowed. There was quiet horror in his voice. “He destroyed his own brother out of jealousy.”

The nameless man knew how the story ended. He waited, not knowing why he did, for the boy to finish, to explain himself.

“God spoke to the elder. ‘Where is your younger brother?’”

“’Am I my brother’s keeper?’ the elder replied.”

“’Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. What have you done?’”

There was a long pause. “The elder brother pleaded to God for mercy… God put a mark on him so that his people would not destroy him, and the elder flew far away.”

“A tale of Ishval from long ago,” the nameless grunted. “Why tell it to me?”

Something flared to life in those strange eyes. “There isn’t enough left of my brother for his blood to cry out for vengeance from the ground, because of _me_.”

The nameless was quiet for a while. “Is it judgement that you desire?”

The boy punched the ground. “Say something!”

“You are very like my own older brother.”

The child froze. Then, slowly: “I’m sorry.” He turned on his heel.

“How did you know that tale? It is not Amestrian.”

“Resembool isn’t far from Ishval,” the alchemist said. Then, quietly: “Mother was Ishvalan. I wish I looked more like her.”

For the first time, the nameless looked closely at the stranger. His eyes and hair were not Ishvalan, but his skin was dark enough, and half-Ishvalan was enough for the child to have fallen under the extermination order. The bright gold of his hair and eyes had saved his life and the nameless could not grudge him that. “Why pursue alchemy?”

“It made her happy.”

That was clearly a story too deep and personal to ask. The nameless was silent.

“Why do _you_ use alchemy? I thought it was forbidden.”

“Am I explaining this to a stranger or a brother with his own reasons?”

The boy’s normally bold, rough voice had gone quiet. “Mother said alchemy was a tool. It isn’t evil—only how it’s used.”

“You certainly know what the alchemists of the State did to our people, and yet you serve them. I am beginning to think it has something to do with your brother.”

The reply was quiet. “I want to make things right.”

“You remind me of my own older brother,” the nameless man said thoughtfully. The boy jerked, as if being tugged like a marionette. “Come inside. You’ll catch cold out there, and I understand that automail often is painful in weather like this.”

The boy only hesitated for a moment before ducking into the shelter. Scar offered him a towel.

“I get the impression that you don’t really know what you’re doing with those transmutation circles,” the boy said, nodding to the tattoos on the nameless’ arm. “Was your brother the one who designed them?”

“He was.” How odd. Two elder brothers who dabbled in the taboo and paid the price; two younger brothers who lost everything. “How did your brother lose his body, yet his soul remained on this plane?”

“We didn’t know how to live without Mother.”

“Is that also how you lost your faith?”

The boy’s expression was wistful. “Maybe I never really knew what faith was.”

“You aren’t angry at whatever god you believed in before?”

“How can you be angry with a mere function of nature?”

The nameless moved in surprise. “A function—”

“Well, that’s the only god I ever met,” the boy said, waving his automail hand dismissively. “You can’t be angry at a law of nature. Laws of nature can only do the one thing. It’s only people you can get upset with.”

“Did you believe in any god that was a person—above nature, nature’s creator?”

The boy shrugged. “Not really.”

There was silence between them.

“And yet you still think you can restore your brother’s body, when the laws of nature are against you?”

“All we need to do is find something of equal value,” the boy murmured. “Al’s going to be fine.”

The nameless scrutinized the child for a long moment. “Then that is your truth.” He did not miss how the boy flinched at the word “truth.” “You are not evil. You are outgrowing your transgressions.”

The boy mumbled something, perhaps “thought you’d be harsher.” Then, quietly: “What happened to your brother?”

“He died.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were deeply sincere.

“How much do you know of your heritage, boy?”

“My name is Edward, you know. You might try using it.”

“Have you no Ishvalan name?”

There was silence for a long moment. “It’s Asim.”

One who stands between family and danger. It seemed oddly fitting.

“Do you have one?”

The nameless shook his head. “I buried my name with my brother.”

Asim opened his mouth, thought better of whatever he was going to say—miracle of miracles—and closed it again. “From one orphan to another. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He stood up, bowed, and left.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic grew out of a few ideas. 1: "There isn't enough left of my brother for his blood to cry out for vengeance from the ground, because of me." 2: I love Scar and also Ishvalan Elrics. 3: I wanted to explore the concept of Truth. Truth seems to be handled like it's a person in the fandom a lot, and I have to disagree. Truth is a function of nature. No matter how powerful it is, it's still a part of nature; therefore Truth can't be a creator. Hence, the (mostly implied) contrast between Ishvala and Truth.  
> I hope that my foray into philosophy and religion was enjoyable. Thank you for reading.


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